


Authority

by PurpleHawk



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleHawk/pseuds/PurpleHawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl and the Governor, missing scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Authority

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for "Made to Suffer" and "The Suicide King"  
> Takes place when Daryl gets captured while rescuing Glenn and Maggie.

He was predatory; that much was clear. There was something sinister to his movements, something distinctly _insidious_ in the depths of his eyes, that chilled Daryl right down to his bones.

He had grown up facing adversity, facing men with hardened eyes and steel fists. But there was something deeply unnerving about the false bravado of the man in front of him. There was just a bit too much of a grimace in his smile, too much of a downturn in the crinkles in his one visible eye, for Daryl to even consider the man to be anything but an act, honed and refined enough to fool an innocent town.

Truth is, Daryl has always been good at reading people. It's easy to see, even easier to justify, that this man, this Governor, is twisted and morphed in a thousand different ways. It's in the way he smiles, teeth grinding almost painfully together, and it's in the way his eyes squint, filled with malicious intent.

Mostly it's in his posture. He knows the signs of grief and anger intimately, and it almost surprises him to see such a thing in a man like this.

It's unsurprising given the world they live in, because everybody has lost something. But Daryl can tell, this man has lost more than just a loved one. He's lost his conscience, his emotional capabilities. Oh, he feels, Daryl doesn't doubt that. The angriest people, they are the ones that have lost the most, he knows.

And this man is simmering, blood boiling restlessly beneath his skin. The air between them is charged, a fuse ready to be ignited, and Daryl is wary of the oncoming explosion.

He would be hard-pressed to admit it, even to himself, but the sharp, calculating eyes scanning his face make him uneasy. He'd like to think that throughout his life, he's learned to hold his own. When someone applies force, he pushes back three times as hard.

 _Give a meter,_ he knows, _and men like this will take a mile._

Which is why he clenches his jaw and steels his eyes against the gaze raking his features, searching for the break in his armour.

He won't find it, Daryl is confident, because this man was thrown into this kind of world, this survival-oriented existence. But Daryl, he has never known anything different. He grew up in the harsh world, toughened by variables beyond his control. He might be the one chained to the chair, vulnerable physically, but he has all the advantage in this moment.

It's of no use of the man to slaughter him here. Daryl is his only leverage against the group of men who invaded his village, his stronghold. What use would it be of him to kill Daryl here, in a room with no witnesses, when he had people banging on his door screaming for justice. Like sheep, Daryl thinks, because people no longer know how to think.

Mentally, Daryl is the one holding all the cards. This man knows nothing of him, whereas Daryl is closely familiar with his type of men. He intimately recognizes him, even if they have yet to speak a word to each other. Sure, maybe his gaze makes his hair stand on end, but that has less to do with the man standing in front of him than the ghost it pulls from his memories.

They could do this all day, as far as Daryl is concerned, it's not like he's going anywhere. It's not until he catches something flickering in the gaze of the Governor, that Daryl verbally acknowledges the man's presence.

"Problem, _hoss?"_

The man tenses up, looking pissed for a split second, before minutely schooling his expression. It doesn't fool Daryl for a second. He thinks it's rather poor, to be honest, and it's a wonder to Daryl how this man has managed to pull off half the amount of things he has.

He comes to a halt directly in front of Daryl, towering over him, a rather clichéd and dramatic attempt at intimidation in Daryl's opinion.

"You know," The Governor starts, falsely lilting, "You and your people, they killed men tonight. Good people."

There is always casualties in firefights, Daryl knows. If the man is trying to phase him, he severely underestimates just who Daryl is. His emphasis hints against the prison group, as if trying to convince Daryl they are the ones at fault. Only, it takes two to fight a war.

"Yeah? Those good people, they a lot like you?" Daryl says, not kindly.

The man's eye darkens, takes on a gleam that makes Daryl pause. _What has a man like this lost,_ Daryl wonders.

"I had a daughter," he says instead. Daryl actually has to bite back his sarcastic response, _a women slept with you?_

Because everyone keeps losing in this world, and why should Daryl feel pity for a man this callous, this crazy?

"She died tonight. Slaughtered by one of your people." Apparently the man had wrongfully taken Daryl's silence as an indication to continue.

Daryl has trouble finding it within himself to believe this. None of the people he knows would willfully slaughter a girl, undoubtedly in her childhood or perhaps even teens. But then again, there are always casualties, and there was so much smoke and beneath the cloak of darkness it's hard to see who is who. Even so, what would a kid being doing out near the front lines?

All in all, Daryl doesn't think that's how it went down at all. But he has an idea.

"She a walker?"

The silence is a good enough answer for Daryl. He laughs.

"Killed her? She was already dead, guv." It gives him no joy to mock a man for his loss, but he is no position to be giving up any leverage. This world has no place for the weak, and Daryl has always been willing to do what has to be done. How in the world did Merle end up in a place like this, is what he is thinking. Does he even know I'm here, so close, within speaking distance and tangible.

And right here, right now, Daryl has no intention of giving up his identity to this man, knows the manipulation that will follow. Family is good leverage, good for bargaining, he knows.

As it turns out, in the end it makes no difference anyways.

It doesn't surprise Daryl, not one bit, when the man storms up directly in front of him, reaching out and clasping the collar of his shirt and dragging him forward until they are face to face, rage bleeding out in every line of his face.

Oh as it turns out it makes no difference, in the end, Daryl's resistance to offer anything up about himself.

So it doesn't surprise Daryl, not one bit, when the man storms directly in front of him, reaching out and clasping the collar of his shirt and dragging them face to face. Daryl can feel his breath against his skin, but he doesn't react, only waits. He sees it coming, but has no way to prevent it.

The fist catches him hard in the right temple, and his vision temporarily blacks out from the force. A second hit comes a second later, slamming against his cheekbone and Daryl feels the skin break, blood dripping down the side of his face. Then, the man let go of his collar, slamming him backwards against the chair.

Daryl blinks away the blurred spots in his eyes, and looks up. The man his has back turned to him, but he spins around the second he feels Daryl's eyes against his back.

"Funny that we should speak of family isn't it, Daryl?"

Daryl actually hesitates at that, because he doesn't doubt that Merle had a picture, or had described him well and often enough that this man has recognized him, but he also doesn't doubt that the man is ruthless and brutal and now, he's got something against Daryl.

The blows to his face have done nothing to phase him, his body is a canvas of the pain that has been etched into his skin, souvenirs of a past that shaped and hardened him. But this, now this game has taken a turn against Daryl's favor and he's not sure how he can manage a checkmate.

The man smiles, taking in Daryl's face. It chills Daryl to the bone, but for a different reason than before.


End file.
